


Home World

by james



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt Aral/Cordelia, a long walk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home World

She's lived here for years, she's long since memorised the streets and major towns and provinces and can identify almost half of the accents she hears. There are faces she knows and holds more dearly than friends she knew all her life back home; there are voices that can still her heart and calm her breath with the first whisper of 'sweetheart' or 'mama.'

This is her home, for what it's worth, and she is glad to be here. She won't deny there are times when she misses Beta and missed her mother with a passion so fierce it burns her right through and makes her gasp and clutch her chest. But she won't go back and is no longer sure she wants to, really, because her home is beautiful and precious and holds more challenges for her than she ever dreamed.

Finding new things can pale in comparison to forging something new out of the old. Her husband's world needs so much, fighting the universe that has forced its way in and its people are afraid sometimes, and bewildered sometimes, and determined and brave and full of faith as they leap into darkness.

She's at peace with her life and decisions and choices, regrets truly only the one thing -- her son, that he might have been--

But this is her home, and she is growing to know it oh so well to the point sometimes she has taken it for granted and forgets that this is not how her life has always been.

She watches her husband crouching by the path where they've been walking, looking at the flowers and mosses and listening to Miles repeat back the names of everything Cordelia can identify for him, carried safely in her arms. She cringes as Aral breaks another branch, smiling happily as he describes the small fire they'll build and roast lunch over and her son's eyes are wild with delight and he's clapping his hands at wanting it now, and all she can think is -- these strangers, these aliens, surrounded by life so rich and lush that they can tear it down and burn it so wantonly.

She gives her husband a smile when he glacnes over, because what is in her heart is not for him, or their son, or any of these people who share her home world.

She places her hand on the trunk of a tree and wonders how simple a thing can remind her she is the alien, here.


End file.
